


In Need of a Haircut

by Hawkeye733



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, That's all there is really, These two are just very tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:09:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3410069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkeye733/pseuds/Hawkeye733
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris doesn't think about appearances. Hawke despairs.<br/>Or in which Fenris needs a haircut and hasn't really thought about how to do that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Need of a Haircut

He lunges for the slaver in front of him, smiling to himself when the man recoils backwards as blood immediately starts to blossom over the front of his shirt. A quick slice when he’s already staggering backwards and the waste of air is folding to the ground, an easy win. Fenris hears a noise behind him, a whistle of a weapon through the air so he spins, lifting his greatsword to meet the incoming attack.

And then that damn piece of hair flicks into his eyes again. The sudden irritation makes him flick his head reflexively and maybe that’s why his sword isn’t quite at the right angle. Because suddenly the other man’s quick blade slices jarringly down his arm and Fenris bellows in angered surprise.

Leaping backwards, he lands lightly and neatly swings the sword over his shoulder. The next moment the second man is lying in almost two pieces on the floor next to him. Fenris runs the claws of his gauntlets over the front of his hair, fruitlessly trying to flatten it back out of the way and probably only succeeding in flecking it with mud and blood.

He takes a moment to glance down at the blood streaks smearing across his forearm; it was only a shallow cut but it left a stinging pain that twists his face into a determined scowl as he turns to face the next wretched excuse for a human.

Varric’s triumphant cry as he skewers the last of the slaver crew heralds the end of the battle and their team sheath their weapons together before taking a moment to see if the slain men were carrying anything of worth. The throb of his arm makes Fenris feel more bitter following their victory than such a success would usually warrant, and his feelings of resentment only increase when he bends over a new corpse only to have his vision obscured once more by the obstinate veil of white hair falling forwards. He tucks it back testily and pockets the coin purse he cuts from the man’s belt.

In fact his foul mood only increases as they walk back along the path of the Storm Coast, buffeted by the wind. As they near the city walls again, Isabela turns from the rest of the party, pointing to the path leading around the city and explaining she has some other ‘business’ to attend to. She catches sight of Fenris then, his dark scowl hidden more than usual under the windswept fringe, then she brazenly steps towards him.

“I’m a fan of the sultry brooding, as you know,” she purrs and Fenris narrows his eyes mistrustfully, watching her approach. “But this, not such a good look on you.” She laughs, then reaches up to his face, plucking something from his fringe, red and congealed, something bloody.

Isabela flicks the mess away nonchalantly then winks at Hawke cheerily. “What, you thought I would let him walk through Hightown looking like that? I mean, when I’m not there to see him ruffle those stiff petticoats.” She laughs huskily again and heads off for her own purposes, leaving the remaining trio to continue on their way.

Hawke decides to follow Varric to the Hanged Man for a celebratory drink but Fenris shakes his head in a mute refusal of their offer to join them. Varric shrugs and walks through the door but Hawke lingers for a moment more.

“You sure you don’t want to toast the demise of slaver scum?” She asks him cheerily but her eyes study Fenris closely.

“There’s something I must attend to.” He says, making sure not to look at or gesture with his injured arm but sure enough, Hawke catches sight of the wound anyway, somehow picking up on the way he tries to hide it from her.

The bleeding had stopped not long after the battle but the exertions of fighting had caused blood to smear out over his arm, making it appear worse than it was. He had done well so far to keep it covered, not wanting to draw attention to it, not wanting Hawke to step closer, ask him why he hadn’t told her so she could send him to the mage. He steps backwards as she moves towards him, so she settles for lifting an eyebrow at him, expecting an explanation.

He’s not going to give her one.

“Hawke.” He nods conclusively and turns away, heading for the steps to Hightown.

Isabela had not been wrong about the attention he draws walking through the marketplace in blood stained armour. Not that he doesn’t frequently feel the stares, hear the muted whispers about the mysterious friend of the Champion, the ghostly elf. He walks straight through them, shoulders hunched and a baleful stare enough to quell anyone who considers approaching.

In his mansion he casts off his gauntlets, his armour and jerkin, leaving them to deal with later as he runs a basin of water. With a piece of cloth and soap he deftly removes the grime covering his face, torso and arms, taking a little more time to make sure the wound on his arm is properly washed before he glances up at himself in the mirror again.

The long hair clings damply over his eyes and he scowls at the reflection. With an irritated thought for the pain it had cost him in the battle, Fenris reaches for the pair of scissors stored in the drawer. Taking a hold of the long strands blocking his field of vision, he snips them off a little more viciously than is necessary.

He watches them fall from his hand and drift to the floor and for a moment he feels a vague sense of accomplishment. _I showed them_. Smirking at the worrying thought that Hawke’s sense of humour was rubbing off on him, he catches sight of a particularly perky tuft of hair behind his ear, and he deals with that too. While he has the scissors in hand he may as well do what he can to shorten the baseline of hair on the back of his neck, awkwardly feeling his way with his free hand.

Finally content that all troublesome pieces had been cropped back out of the way, he sets himself to finding a clean bandage that will, if anything, stop Hawke from hounding him. Sitting on a stool with the supplies of elfroot paste and cloths gathered next to him, he hears the door of his mansion open.

“That was a quick drink.” He waits until he hears her footsteps coming lose to the door.

“You made the right choice not going tonight. There was this crowd of…” Her voice cuts off and Fenris looks up to see her standing in the doorway, gawking.

After a reasonable pause Fenris frowns at her, “What?” He’s unclothed from the waist up but that’s certainly nothing she hasn’t seen before. Then he sees the corner of her mouth twitching, that movement he knows means she’s holding back a laugh. “What is it?” He repeats, trepidation settling in.

“Did you, ah, do that yourself Fenris?” She says in a steady voice and he is immediately suspicious. She’s looking at the top of his head, his hair.

“Of course. It was getting too long.” He looks at her challengingly, as if that was likely to stop her.

She steps forward, reaching out and lightly putting her hand in his hair, slowly combing through it with her fingers. “So, you wanted it to look like this?” He can hear the trace of humour in her voice and while he’s not one to feel self-conscious, that tone leaves him awaiting the worst.

“I wanted it out of my eyes. I was blinded and that’s why this happened.” He gestures with his arm but his efforts to distract her are fruitless.

“I’m not sure this is a better option.” She says playfully and now he looks up at her, displacing her hand from his scalp.

“Hawke! Bleeding here.” He protests and she looks down at him, a parody of distress in her expression.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic. Your cut is fine. Now this, I’m not sure we can save this.” She puts her hand to her chest, he mouth curved in a horrified ‘oh’ - an unnervingly good impression of the worst of Hightown nobles.

“Don’t be dramatic, she says.” Fenris mutters, and her hand wanders back up his neck into his hair again. The feeling is…not entirely unpleasant.

She curls her fingers once more, scratching her nails lightly across his scalp and comments with a strange, strained tone to her voice, “You look like you just lost a fight with an angry sylvan.”

He sighs and tilts his head so he can look at her, without removing his head from under her reach. He raises a dark eyebrow sceptically. “I need it functional, not coiffed.”

“I know, but shards, Fenris, there’s a mirror right there.” She twists her hand on his scalp and directs his head to the looking glass above the washbasin. He faces a reflection of himself that, while he often tries to refrain from telling Hawke she’s right, does explain why she’s making such a fuss.

The fringe of his hair is sliced in a sharp cut straight across his brow, leaving a haphazard point across his forehead. Sections he had cut are arbitrarily shorter than the rest, giving a patchy, tufted appearance. His lips thin as his eyes pick out the mess that is his hair, then he makes the mistake of looking to Hawke’s face reflected back at him.

She is biting her lip, trying hard not to laugh, and he appreciates that. However, the moment their eyes meet a great snort of laughter cracks through the straight expression she was attempting, unsuccessfully, to maintain. She looks almost apologetically at Fenris and then turns away to double over, clutching at her stomach and wheezing out garbled noises.

She manages to pull herself together, standing back up and opening her mouth as if she wanted to try to say something. Then she looks at Fenris’ reflection again, and she stops. He is smiling, sheepishly at first but when he meets Hawke’s eyes and see how they twinkle with mirth, his smile widens, and he allows a self-deprecating laugh to escape him.

It’s a small thing, a chuckle, but the moment he starts, it sets Hawke off again. She falls forwards, hands on his shoulders and rests her forehead on top of his own as her snickering quivers through her whole body.

“You…I’m sorry Fenris I just…did you…” She fails to make a proper sentence, and Fenris raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her. The effect is ruined by his persistent smile and the way his hand comes to rest on top of her own.

“Did you come here just to mock me?” He growls good-naturedly.

“No but while I’m here…” She looks up and gently rests her chin on the crown of his head, smirking. “Where are your scissors?”

“What?”

“Scissors. I can fix this.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

She spots the scissors anyway and reaches for them, leaning over the top of Fenris carelessly and causing him to bend with her. “Bite your tongue. I almost feel as though you don’t trust me.”

“That’s what I said.” He answers flatly as she stands back and runs her fingers through his hair once more, playful eyes looking up to meet his in the mirror.

“So what is it you’re after today, good ser?” She fluffs at his hair and affects a business-like tone. “Short back and sides? Perhaps mix it up with a long top, shaved underside? A dalish Mohawk?” He frowns at her from beneath his brows. “A dwarven braid? I think you would suit a rogueish topknot.”

“Now you’re making these up.”

“Quite the contrary. You know Bethany used to love trying out all the latest fashions.”

He glanced at her as she mentioned her sister but instead asks sceptically, “You mean you actually know what you’re doing?”

“Just like I always do.” She grins at him and hastily continues speaking before he can make a disparaging reply, “Besides, it’s not like Carver was any good at looking after himself either.” She swiftly gets into action, not giving Fenris the chance to protest any more.

He won’t bring himself to question whether she really needs to run her hands through his hair quite so much as she bustles over him, or whether running a finger across the length of his ears is strictly necessary, or down the back of his neck. In fact he doesn’t dare, in case pointing it out makes her stop.

So he sits, watching her in the mirror. She walks round the front of him to study his fringe and he smiles at the look of concentration on her face, the way she bites her tongue as she smoothes out a lock of hair between two fingers and runs the scissors along them. Then she flicks her eyes to meet his, catching him looking at her. Guiltily she swipes her tongue back into her mouth and her concentrated frown shifts into a warm smile spreading across her face, one he can’t help but mimic as she bends down to look more closely at the tuft of hair she’s trimming next.

He can’t help but bring his hand up to gently rest on the back of her leg, when she’s stood so close to him, but other than glancing very quickly at him again and lifting the corner of her mouth in a smirk, she says nothing, focusing on the task at hand.

After just a couple of minutes she steps back, giving him an appraising walk around as she draws her finger along his bare back. With a final sigh she nods solemnly at him once and then leans in, pressing her lips to the side of his mouth.

“Just please, ask me next time.” She comments despairingly, while her mouth twitches with amusement. She gestures at the mirror behind her and Fenris looks away from her, only now realising he could have been watching the proceedings in the reflection this whole time, had he not been distracted.

He examines her handiwork for the first time, and it’s…good. Nothing terrible or radical, it just looks nicely trimmed, shorter than he expected but that was rather the point of having it cut. He turns back to Hawke again and tilts his head at her.

“You’re a woman of many hidden talents.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She winks outrageously and Fenris closes his eyes briefly with a sigh. “I had to go shorter on the sides but then that’s what happens when you let a madman hack at it first.”

“I promise you I’ll ask you next time, before I go to any madman.” He says with a smirk and she laughs, stepping closer to him again.

“I told you, you should make sure to lock your door. You don’t know who could wander in.” He takes a hold of her hand and pulls her so her legs collide with his knees.

“He just appeared. I was caught off guard.” She leans down and puts her face close to his so their noses are barely touching.

“I’m sure you’ll best him next time.” Her lips brush his as she speaks and her lips curve up when he leans towards her, closing what space there is left between their lips and then…

She pulls away, raising an eyebrow at him disapprovingly.

“So let’s talk about you trying to make me ignore this gash in your arm.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a comment by loquaciousquark who is a much better writer than me, i just rolled with it


End file.
